Red Rose
by Annabel Lioncourt
Summary: Christine returns to Erik as he's dying, she and Nadir are both unsure how much longer he has, and as Erik and Christine cling to his life she stuggles to tell him what the white rose and the nightengale have created. Alternate epilogue to Susan Kay.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: this is the opening of a much longer story and one of several **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** ones I have in the works; however because this one is entirely based on Kay's **_**Phantom**_** it cannot be published, so here it is.**

**I own nothing. Just have to say that or else I'll get booted off the site.**

**Raoul will be dealt with. All other bugs will be smoothed out as well when I update this and the next part**

**Reveiws will be my incentive to post the rest of the story **

**Rated: T. But compared to most Phantom fanfics, this might be a mild T :P **

Epilog to Phantom. Because Raoul is a lying bastard and this is what really happened.

_Directly after Christine returns to him the last time_

I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming, and still let out a yelp to see him lying in the bed. _"I forced him in it, I didn't want to see him in the coffin…not yet, child…I couldn't._" Nadir did what I would have myself: even my thin ballet form could have easily lifted him. He wasn't even this bad when I first came back to him…he and I had completed our marriage, and he has not gotten out of bed on his own accord since. Our marriage bed would be his death bed in what I feared was a very short time. I held him, I hummed when my throat hurt and I could no longer sing constantly to him. I wove my little fingers through his skeletal hands and kissed him a thousand times.

One week passed and he could speak enough to ask for tea, to which the Persian—Nadir—ignored and brought him hot broth instead, nearly force-feeding him. I tried to as well. I only left his side when Nadir half led and half carried him to the inner chamber—a bath he had built for me. Under oridinary circumstances, I would have laughed to see him smelling of my perfumed soap.

"We're going to go someplace warm and dry when you feel up to it," I said, tracing the lines of his face. "Where there are no people and we can lie out in the sun together."

"Keep talking," he whispered hoarsely.

"Southern France or Italy, and we'll stay there, have a dozen children and then come back to Paris with them and you will be a famous composer and I a singer once again." his mouth twitched into a smile, "What?"

"A dozen? Child, I wouldn't dare risk you have any." I was not a child. I was no longer a child to him when I saw him cry before me. I was his complete wife and moreso, as two weeks passed I came to the conclusion that I…

"And if its too late?" a look of horror passed him, and the hand of mine that was customarily lying on his chest, feeling his heart beat and lungs breath, felt a sharp increase in both. "calm…ange…"

"I would regret my actions greatly, in leaving you a widow with a demon infant of the devil."

"Ange. Not a devil, not a corpse, but an angel." I said as harshly as I dared lest he become overworked. "I am quite serious…this damp air isn't doing your lungs any favors…we'll leave here." he smiled at me, weakly, but allowed me the fantasy, and over the next several days even added to it. a piano, a dog, music lessons for our children; madame Giry watching over them in a private box as Erik conducted his music as I sang my soul out on stage.

Fourth week he tried to sit up in bed. I laid cushions behind him so he could lean back on them for support and he grimaced at how weak he was that I had again become his nurse. "You deserve a far better life than this…" I shakily leaned forward in protest. Strange that as his wife I still was hesitant to feel his kiss. Yet as afraid as he was too touch me of his own accord, he would never turn down my own offering and brushed his mouth against mine. "Christine is such a good wife…" I bit my lip: I didn't feel nearly as great as he always made me out to be. Curled up to his side, I pulled the duvet up over us and feel asleep against my will as he ran a long hand down my hair, then down my back over and over.

When I awoke, Erik was gone, but I could hear him talking before my eyes had opened, so the instant fear that always went through me when I felt his absence didn't get the chance to set in.

"I don't know…" even ravaged with illness his voice still worked its drug-like effects on me

"Surely more than the months you predicted before?"

"Daroga…I hope so…" there was a bitter laugh and I grimaced at how painful it must have been on his raw throat "I have what I wanted, I finally fear Death and he comes for me."

"Let's get you back to her then…" the walls were thick, yes, but not the doors—why make it so eavesdroppers could not hear if you never intended on guests?—and I heard every word of theirs as Nadir helped Erik back to bed. I feigned sleep well enough to fool him but not Erik. He would act as through I was indeed asleep until we were alone. The Daroga, though he too could hear, pretended that he never heard a sound from our room once the door was closed. "the poor child…"

"I wish I was in her place…that I could take the pain…Have her die with me than let her go on living hollowly." There was no answer from Nadir, as he helped him up onto the bed "Its my fault…she…She's of the angels and I don't think now she could ever move on as I wanted her too." He was right. I never would. If not for my red rose, the moment Erik died, I'd kill myself before his embrace grew cold and die in it. Nadir sighed

"She is truly a strange thing," Erik would never touch me as I slept, so when he ran one finger barely over my hair at those words, I knew that he knew I was awake.

"Leave us, daroga." As soon as the door clicked shut I sat up and leaned into him the best that I dared; his arms were frightfully thin and bony, uncomfortable but also granted me a feeling of security that I never knew since my father took ill.

"It's been over a month…and you're getting better."

"Child, please don't hope."

"Hope is all I have now." I touched his mask. Since he had been able to ask for it, he had kept it on religiously, only if it fell as he slept did I see his face. "And you, you have me…" I didn't think I was worth half of what he said I was, I, the broken and overgrown child who because of refusing to grow up, had made it so she never could grow up, but if he saw a sultana in me, and that kept him here with me, then so be it.

"I do." I shivered at the words. At my sins. That we hadn't a priest as we muttered our vows and that our witness was Muslim. I didn't want to make him rest when he was feeling up to sitting but I laid down, my head on his lap which like the rest of him was sharp and nearly painful to rest upon, but still , part of that strange comfort.

"Tell me that story again." he didn't need to ask which one. It was the one I had told him, on the first night here after we consummated a marriage that wasn't even legitimate, trying to keep him awake.

"The nightingale fell helplessly in love with the rose, and never knowing what love was, and having been denied the gift, did not know that fate did not want or allow him to have the love of the white rose. Yet the white rose…opened up to him…one night as he was dying of the love that consumed him. The white rose enveloped his mind, keeping it as he faded." It was a changed story, and while I loved beyond words how he now admitted that he chose it because he saw us as the rose and nightingale, I had wanted him to mention the real ending.

"You forgot some of it."

"That's all there is." I shook my head and relined against the mountain of cushions with him.

"Born from their love was a red rose so beautiful the world was never mean to see it. God proceeded to punish them but the rose went on…as the most amazing treasure the world had ever seen."

"Child, if it matters so much, _Don Juan_ can be rebound…I have Garnier's letters, proof that I built this opera, just please don't let my name out before I am no longer here to claim it." I bit my tongue until it bled.

"Your…your music…your art is not the only thing that you have sired, Erik."


	2. Chapter 2

**I had positive review and faves so I decided to stop being lazy and actually update. I do not own Susan Kay's Phantom, but the copyright ran out for Leroux's so guess what? ERIK'S UP FOR GRABS!**

"Your…your music…your art is not the only thing that you have sired, Erik." His entire frame stiffened and he slowly shut his eyes. The effects paired with his appearance were so much like a dead man that I couldn't bare and quickly shut my own. His words told me he was still here:

"Christine…poor, mad Christine…" I slid my arms around his torso, hoping he'd hold me.

"please get better" I murmured to him as I had to my father as I sat at his bedside. Erik was right in that sense. I was a perpetual child. I needed the crutch and strength that was a father figure. The criticism, the guidance and leadership, but I needed—I craved—a romantic lover. Raoul was still young, still a child, but less and less of one with each passing day. I remained trapped with a child's heart and mind.

It was as if he was reading my thoughts "You need someone far more complete than I." he paused "Not the vitcomte…not him, someone stronger of spirit and kinder of heart."

"I just need you" my voice was feeble and quiet. All I needed was him. All I needed was for him to return my embrace and tell me everything was alright. That he wasn't dying, that I was strong enough for the child and all was normal. The skeleton in my arms shook once and though it was silent, I knew it for a sob. Reluctantly doing so, I pulled sheets up over us, and we remained against each other until Nadir came in and forced me to leave his side long enough to eat.

Seated at the kitchen table, I ate mechanically, not noticing what it was, or how much was left, just knowing that when it was gone nadir would permit me to return to Erik.

"Madame, he may have a year if he's lucky, but I fear this is his end." I had tried to steal myself from this pain, but I couldn't

"His end is mine." I would have his child, then join my nightingale. It wasn't until that moment that I admitted as much to myself, but it was true. I would leave the child in Madame Giry or the persian's charge—someone who would see to Erik's rose no matter what it looked like. I felt ill then, and not just because of my condition. I slid away my food and my tea. Nadir watched in wonder

"You have gradually turned towards the door to your room. Each moment, so slightly." He paused, thinking. "You really love him. You are young, naive but I do not doubt that you and Erik are only in this world because of each other." Crying was not an option. Erik had to be fooled into knowing that he was not dying, not thinking that he wasn't, but knowing. If he knew that, then he would not. Anything he ever wanted he got, ever since he was a child "He hasn't, Madame, that is why he is this way now."

"I-I didn't realize I was speaking out loud." Still walking towards my room, terrified that I would look away and miss the life leaving his eyes, take my hand from his heart and miss its final beat

"He never has gotten quite what he wanted; I fear you are the sole good thing he has ever gotten in life." I nodded and backed into my room. I only paused long enough to shut the door because Erik was upright in bed, if he wasn't so clearly alright for the moment, I would have run to his side. Which I did anyway, the moment that the door clicked shut.

"Is Christine alright?" I didn't answer, I buried myself in his black robe—his _kimono _he called it; I wore it that first night, I needed Nadir to see to Erik, and my clothing was in a heap on the floor where I left them with his and would take a good ten minutes to don, I had pulled his on and it had actually fit my slim form. "Christine?" his voice—it sounded…less hoarse…? Did I dare?

"Yes, I'm fine…" twitching slightly, he raised a hand and gently, airily brushed my cheek with his finger tips.

"Erik's beautiful Christine…You are such a good, good wife to me…" he was being too quiet for me to gauge his voice, and I could not note if the twitch was of his illness or his hesitation. "Promise me, child…promise me that you will not hurt our red rose. Whether he is a monster or she is your mirror, please…"

"Why would it be a monster?" I demanded

"Because—Because…" he gave a bitter smile and gestured sadly down his body,

"You are not a monster. You are not a corpse. You are a man, a living breathing man—my husband and part of my little fragile family." I took his skeletal hands and splayed them across where I supposed a child would grow; the same area it pained me monthly—I knew so little. I had no mother to tell me such things, and Madame Valerious never saw fit to discuss it, Meg knew too much for me to feel comfortable asking. I gathered from discussions at rehearsals what it entailed, and evidently knew enough. "And I could never, I would never…hurt—"

"Erik knows Christine is good….you would not hurt anything but out of fear I've seen you wish for spiders dead. What if—" I laid a finger across his thin lips.

"If the child is _your_ perfect mirror…I could do nothing but love it," he relaxed and laid down "You should sit, if you feel up to it…"

"My sweet Christine…"

"I'm serious,"

"and I'm tired," feeling slightly bad I reached across him, turned down the lamp, and laid down to sleep, hand on his heart, as become my custom.

His hand found mine as we slept, or perhaps he awoke first—I was truly daring to hope he was improving.


	3. Chapter 3

**I own nothing**

"Rest, angel…" he breathed into my hair; I nestled closer to him—most likely bruising my hip where it hit his, hard as if he were only made of bone and not flesh. I'm still not sure how I mistook the scent of parchment and musk for death; those both as well as the scent of the opera itself—wood, crushed velvet, a little dusty perhaps but nothing dead. His scent was like the rest of him: a comfort and anchor, if not the most beautiful, then certainly the only one that would ever work for me.

"You sound so much better…" he sighed, not easily, but not sounding too painful either.

"Perhaps I have a year."

"You'll get to see your little rose…" his heart fluttered under my hand

"Much for the horror of the child."

"If you are all he…she…sees first, than you will seem to be normal, all others will look—" I almost said strange, but didn't really know what else to say. He laughed, with genuine humor, before coughing horribly. after he got over the fit, and _my _ heart started to beat again, he spoke

"I know that love is not that blind, my angel, I am not a pretty thing to look at."

"Erik—"

"Angel…you love me, that is more than I could have ever hoped for…a wife…a child! I didn't dare dream about the first, the second never crossed my mind! You have given me so, so much." he finished the short speech by kissing my hand. Nadir knocked softly on the door.

"Are you both decent?" I blushed, but the question was necessary. At least for me; even if not for my condition, my husband and I could not attempt such activities while he's ill.

"Yes, Nadir," Erik replied, even though he and I were still nestled together under the sheets. It was highly indecent, but somehow I felt as if Erik and I (and the Persian by association) were outside of society and most of its rules. He entered with a tray carrying tea and pastries (was it morning again already?) and some broth I supposed for Erik. After setting the tray across both our laps, he took a seat near Erik's side of the bed (oh what still strange thing to say! To share such an intimate space)

"Any better?"

"I don't require two nurses."

"You are correct. You requite three. Madame Giry will bring some laudanum down later."

"Morph—"

"Over my dead body." Nadir spoke with firmness and somehow, his strict words towards erik lightened him in my eyes. All the little scars from needles up and down his arms were to me as painful to see as the deep wounds on his back from beatings, and the small but deep and jagged scars on his hands that I have yet to know the origins of.

"How does his respitory sound?" It didn't seem too forward of a question, not really, but it still gave me slight humiliation because it was considered typical that I would have been sleeping so near to listen to him breath.

"A little better,"

"heart?"

"Cold but beating." I said. Nadir smiled, Erik's expression was not so generous.

"Good enough," he hesitantly reached towards Eirk's wrist, "Madame, would you care to…I think he'd find your touch less…inducing him of murderous feelings." I wrapped my hand around his wrist, thought it was small it still managed to encircle his thin arm. Satisfied with his regular pulse, I withdrew my hand, brushing fingertips down the length of his long pale hands.

"No worse than the past several days," I said

"I have always be irregular of heart," Nadir rose,

"Child—Madame, Monsieur , I shall take my leave," I nodded

"Thank you sir," I handed the bowl of warm broth to Erik who merely grimaced.

"I do not need to be fed,"

"Then drink," he downed it as quickly as he could, more than I'd seen him do since my arrival here.

"Amor, you mustn't worry for me…"

"Well I do. and I will until you are better, and if you never are than I shall not cease worrying for you." he tried to stand, I scampered out of bed and to his side, ready to steady him but he brushed me away

"I'm fine, fine!" I bit my tongue.

"Your wife is nervous, forgive me."

"I have already forgiven you…there is nothing that you can do, nothing you can ever say that I will not forgive."

"You love me too much," I said standing near to his side, out of bed somehow he looked more frightening, more skeletal—less dead but yet, more monstrous; he stood high above me, "Are you alright?"

"I. Am. _Fine_." To show it, he strode, albeit unsteadily to the door. He leaned against its frame "My affairs are kept in order at all times, and the managers will not know the difference and continue to pay you via madame Giry; she will see to your needs."

"You said…you said…"

"I said I might have a year, maybe more if I improve…"

"Our rose…what of our rose…?"

"I'll see it. I promise." Shakily, nervously, he brought his arms around me, long fingers splayed across my stomach.

"Can you get to the kitchen?" I asked after a long moment

"I can manage." He kept a hand on the small of my back, though from affection, or to steady himself, I didn't know and didn't ask; he put the kettle on the fireplace, sliced a lemon for the tea and took a tray of pastries from the icebox, setting them in the bread oven.

"Your…alright?"

"I've gotten through worse on my own…my lungs, and heart…Its from working in the quarries and masonry." I nodded, I knew the story "Either way, the sooner I get back to getting around the sooner I heal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes…you are the one I worry about; such stress isn't good for any woman let alone a young mother." I blushed, and the silence I responded with caused him to turn to me, and at my bashful face he rushed to my side, too fast and struggled to gain his breath

"Careful…"

"Its fine…" he reached hesintly to tuck a loose curl behind my ear, but drew away

"Christine?"

"Yes, ange?"

"I…I'm not wearing a mask…am I?" the look of terror in his eyes were too much, I set my hands on either side of his face, and drew him down to me,

"No, you're not," I whispered against his lips before pressing mine to his. When I drew back it was only to set my forehead against his.

"Angel…I'm dead aren't I? I'm in hell, all this will be taken from me, now that I finally know what its like…its all going to be taken from me for eternity—tell me that's where I am isn't it?"

"No, you're alive, and you are here with your wife and your red rose."


End file.
